


Our Saviors' Heart and Home

by PaopuNova, SquishiChaos



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe, Mild Language, Scala ad Caelum (Kingdom Hearts)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 01:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18982627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaopuNova/pseuds/PaopuNova, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquishiChaos/pseuds/SquishiChaos
Summary: As much as Vanitas loathed to admit it, there were aspects of this place he appreciated.    Because this--Scala--was his home, even if he refused to say that out loud.





	Our Saviors' Heart and Home

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Headcanons provided by @Novallion on Tumblr, this is an introduction to a version of Scala ad Caelum post Kingdom Hearts 3, after being rebuilt by Vanitas and his Unversed over many years. Also, @Novallion, special thanks for giving me the chance to bring these wonderful thoughts of yours to life, and also for painting the absolutely AMAZING art you made to go with it!

 

As much as Vanitas _loathed_ to admit it, there were _aspects_ of this place he appreciated.  This hill, for instance, where he sat nice and comfy amidst a bed of dandelions, was a welcome attraction after days hopping from island to island.  The waft of fresh breeze off the inlet just meters below offset the aroma of baked goods that always lingered after a hard day _experimenting_ in his bakery.   Carried on the oncoming chill of another night, all the natural scents were an organic lull that had him simply enjoying the shifting pinks and auburns of another beautiful sunset.

It was nice to get a reprieve every now and again.  To just fall back against the lush rolling hills of the green island and watch a swarm of floods scatter below a wave of disturbed dandelion seedlings.  He sneered up at the incoming violets and bruising blues of dusk, all too ready for the sun to make its final descent below the horizon and the rippling surface across the way.  To look into once murky waters and see the pristine outline of a glowing light there to illuminate the shadowed structures of a city that looked so oddly like their own—all the while knowing that at any point, thousands of heartless could come pouring through the wards set up to keep this secret base hidden and ransack their isolated community.

Not that Vanitas was worried, of course.   He had _better_ things to do.

Like napping.  

With all his floods pooled around his form, close enough he could feel the emotions they were born out of in each breath that poured through his body, it almost felt possible—that plummet.   Aided by the soft chime of distant bells, he could hardly ignore the pull that dared drag him toward the abyss.   Deeper and _deeper_ —far beyond the reach of the tiny claws that kneaded softly into his flesh.   Even past the last traces of daylight disappearing into the golden pond shimmering bright against the reflection of a swallowed sun.

But never far enough to miss the trace whispers of, “ _Did you hear?_    _Roxas is back in town!_ ”

A groan tore out of his throat before he could stop it.   _They shouldn’t sound so excited…_ He lamented, already _far_ too aware where this conversation was going.

As he expected, “ _Topaz wants to try his hand at another match!  Apparently, he has some kind of gadget that’ll ‘guarantee him success!’_ ”

“ _Hah!  As if anything could guarantee a win against that guy!”_

_"Do you think we should tell someone?  I mean, what if—”_

“ _Nah, it’ll be fine!  Roxas would never **intentionally** hurt one of us…right?_” 

Vanitas couldn’t help a long, forlorn sigh.  

Peering at the flood nuzzled closest to his neck, he pet a single claw down the curling shadows of its back with the slightest _twist_ of a smirk.  “Guess there really is no rest for the wicked, huh?”  With a roll of his golden eyes, the Master of the Unversed easily jumped out of his imprint and soared into the air with another rush of departing petals. 

He heard a succession of gasps as, with a push, he sliced through the ring of distant bells and back toward the many open courtyards of the green island.  Hopefully—for _once_ —the Blonde would have enough restraint to leave a couple kids _conscious_ for his arrival.

_Hah_ , he scoffed darkly, already well aware what he would find beyond the rolling hills of green leading back to the castle.  Hell, he could practically _smell_ the tension in the air from this far away.

And loathe as he was to admit it—Vanitas was _excited_.

 

 

 

 

Across from them, Roxas looked anything _but_ excited.   “…Really?”

“Yeah!”  Topaz exclaimed, holding up a freshly beaded bracelet woven together with levels of magic the Blonde could sparsely have imagined anyone but Aqua daring to imbue into a single item; “I _promise_ you, it’s double-reinforced to withstand both the crash of light _and_ dark!  I even had Master Riku try it out to make sure it had no ill effects on its user, but I need to test it out with _real_ data.”

“And you want _me_ ,” Roxas drawled—slowly and carefully—“to do the honors…”

“Well, who the fuck _else_?”  Sorcha growled, flicking strands of blonde over her shoulder with an exhausted glare.  “You know any _other_ bastard in this hot mess _badass enough_ to unleash his full power on a student?”

“Hey…”

“What?  It’s fucking _true_.”  Cerulean eyes rolled to the amethyst sky before resettling on the smattering of students gathered in his path. 

Honestly, he’d been hoping to just stop in quick, drop off some ingredients and pick up a couple more missions from the Boss before heading off again on another harrowing adventure, but of _course_ this place had other plans.

He exhaled through his nose and felt Oblivion and Oathkeeper rest easy in his open palms.  A chorus of resulting gasps breathed through the throng of onlookers, along with a couple whistles of appreciation. Across from him, Topaz’s emerald mohawk practically bounced with his excitement.

“On my _Heart_ , does this mean you’ll do it?!  You’ll really test it out?!”

“Certainly isn’t a blatant no,” Sorcha sighed, looking over her shoulder at the spread of possible contenders corralled into a neat order behind them. In the middle of the many nervous faces trying to get up the courage to face off with the Transient Soul, Lori B was the only one who looked even _remotely_ up for the challenge.   

With a shrug, Sorcha summoned her latest masterpiece of a keyblade and tossed it to her with only a grunted _think fast_!   The brunette blinked out of her stupor and up at the hurled object _just in time_ for it to smack into her nose. 

A brief tension dusted through the crowd as she rubbed at her newest bruise with a slight glare.  “That wasn’t very nice!  Didn’t anyone tell you it’s dangerous to throw around keyblades?”

“He does it,” Sorcha defended with a jerked thumb in Roxas’s direction.  The Blonde was decent enough to frown, at least.  But unlike the rest, not a shred of amusement tainted the ocean of his eyes or the stoic mask of his face, but that hardly deterred the young student from picking up the discarded weapon and getting a feel for its balance.  

Looking at her assailant, Lori B grinned.  “This is actually really well made!  Can I have it?”

“No.”

“But—”

“Here, put this on, too!!”  Topaz gently slid the bracelet onto Lori B’s offhand and settled it _just right_ before stepping back and offering a nod to Sorcha and Roxas.   The Apprenticing Mechanic took a step back into the crowd as Roxas took a step forward.  

In that one movement, the air around the crowd _changed_.

The carefree attitude wafting off the excitable students died into a somber malice pooled in the emotionless gaze pinpointed on the student daring enough to step forward for the first round.  With Oblivion awash in sheaths of black shadows and Oathkeeper alight in shimmering peels of white, there remained a neutrality in his stance that beckoned the first blow to be delivered instead of received.

Inhaling a steadying breath, Lori B took her stance with a high-pitched grunt and shot toward the Wayward Warrior in three quick steps.   Her first strike was easily deflected by a single block with Oblivion—her next by an effortless swipe from Oathkeeper.   She drew back a single agile step to prepare another combo for him, but he closed the distance with a double slice that _narrowly_ missed cutting her in half.   As it was, the shockwave of light hitting dark sent the young student flying back into the crowd with a _whoosh_ of energy.

As if her defeat had heralded a call to arms, the rest of the students gathered in the proximity called their blades forth in preparation for their newest raid boss.  

Despite himself, Roxas couldn’t help a thin smirk.  “Well, come on, then.  I ain’t got all night.”

 

 

 

 

 

By the time Vanitas arrived at the courtyard just outside the entrance to the Sanctuary, there were already more casualties than there were survivors. 

In the overcoat of darkness, the only light he could make out was the blaze of Oathkeeper hot in Roxas’s left-hand as it ripped through the defense of another hapless Apprentice and sent them sprawling to the ground in defeat.   Another followed mere seconds after that, shot back through the gathered crowd of onlookers with a practiced kick, turned expertly into a swipe with Oblivion at the student daring enough to come in for a blow from above. 

Vanitas shook his head at the many shattered remains of used potions glistening jade in the light of distant worlds.   Shards of ethers and elixirs mingled a bit further from the destruction, painting a trail to the few healers and mages still using what little was left of their MP to try and save the raid.   The Shadow hissed with a wince as Roxas sent yet another victim soaring into Rainy just as she readied a _curaga_ to try and bring up some fallen party members.  

He clicked his tongue.  _Should’ve had leaf bracer attuned.  What is the Old Witch **teaching** them?_

A sigh fell off his lips with a couple careful steps onto the outskirts of the _party_ —though, massacre might’ve been a better term, really.   _How Roxas of Roxas to leave so many of our promising Apprentices face-down in the dirt on his first night home._    

Rolling his eyes, Vanitas looked down at the Flood shaded pink in admiration at his side.   He could practically _feel_ the smitten pitter-patter of its nonexistent heart fluttering through his veins.   With a slight glare, he gently toed it in the side until it shaded back to a familiar violet and blinked red eyes up at him in intrigue.   “Should we stop him?”

Blinking again, the little creature gave a brief shake of its head before turning back to the slaughter happening not feet away.  _Of course not_ , he groaned through their link.   _Who cares if a couple first-years die by the hands of a crazed sociopath and his two keyblades so long as your infatuation is sated, right?_    Red eyes blinked up to him again before the Flood offered another wordless nod and skittered a couple inches closer to the fight.

Vanitas didn’t even try to hide his disappointment.  “Honestly.  Do I have to do _everything_ myself?!”   Growled out of his throat as he calmly summoned a streak of dark lightning across his fingertips.  With little to no finesse, he let it off between Roxas and his latest bruised challenger just in _time_ to keep another student from falling unconscious.

_Hurray._    Rolling his eyes, he took a casual step onto the battlefield and let his presence fall over the grounds.    The Blonde turned that blue-eyed glare onto him with all the malice and resentment Ventus had never gotten a _chance_ to feel, but it bled into a more solid tension with every quiet second that passed without a word spoken between them.  

After a few more chimes of the bells, Vanitas took another casual step into the courtyard with a pointed look at the several downed Apprentices felled by this single Keyblade Wielder.   If he had been a Heartless—or, hell, a _Nobody_ , possibly facets of _both_ —there was no doubt the Students would’ve had no luck.    Even now, there remained only a couple of contenders even a _little bit_ fit to raise their keyblade in another toss-up, and Vanitas doubted that spirit would last long if Roxas actually got worked up enough to pull out his _big guns_.

_Well, better stop him before that happens_.  “Really?  _Again_?  I thought you said you were over this.”

“ _They_ attacked _me_ ,” The Blonde retorted, letting Oblivion and Oathkeeper fade back into their sheaths.   _Pity_ , Vanitas thought, _I was looking forward to working up a sweat_.  “ _You’re_ the one who said they needed _actual_ battle experience.”

“Oh, _yes_ , blame it on _me_.”  Rolling his eyes again, Vanitas snapped his fingers and a Vile Phial appeared by the students, expelling a healing plume out to all the downed wielders.   Vanitas conjured a couple more Floods to carry elixirs to the others with a leer at Roxas.  “As if you weren’t smirking just a second ago.”

“Excuse you, I was—”

“If you guys are done,” Sorcha interjected, “with whatever _this_ is, I think now would be a good time to collect the data from Topaz’s new item.” 

“And your keyblade!” Lori B exclaimed as she bounced back to her feet.  “I’ll be honest, I _did_ make it longer this time than last!”

“Yeah, but that could just be because of your lessons.  Let’s take it back to the lab so Ienzo and Even can run some tests.”  Sorcha suggested, sending a smug look toward Roxas and Vanitas, “You two play nice now, ya hear?”

As the students corralled themselves back toward the barracks, the Wayward warrior looked askance at the Shadow.  “Is it just me—”

“Nope, she _definitely_ made fun of us.”  Offering a smirk, Vanitas sent a puff of dark lightning toward his nose and ruffled his fingers wildly through the shorter male’s wild mane.  “You should take her out first next time—for me.”

“For _you_? _Why_ would I do anything for you?” 

“Well, because,” Vanitas said whilst opening a small void by his hand, “you still owe me for that batch of sea salt sugar cookies I made last time you were here _and_ ,” he drew his hand back and presented another plain brown box marked with his signature Unversed symbol across the top, “I used the _last_ of the ingredients you brought in to make you this out of the goodness of my heart.”

Roxas snorted.  “Please, there’s no goodness in your heart.”

“If I had a heart, that might actually sting.” 

“Uh-huh.”  Rolling his eyes, the Blonde snatched the box and lifted the flap for just a second before _instantly_ closing it with a shocked stare.  “Are you _serious_?”

“Nope.  Give it back.”

“Nuh-uh,” Roxas _almost_ pulled Oblivion out to slap his hand away, but he stopped himself last second when the glitter of Void Gear settled in Vanitas’s palm.  “No voids, returns or refunds on any shady deals we do.  You’re the one who wrote that rule.”

“Am I?  Guess I forgot.”  Shrugging his shoulders, the Shadowy male looked off into the black horizon and welcomed the glare of red eyes staring back.  He could _feel_ the draw of his island calling him back, beckoning him into the solitude of darkness.  It had certainly been a while since he’d checked up on things at his home turf—long enough he wondered what kind of miscreants might have lurked through the shadows while he was busy gatekeeping the islands. 

Deciding he _might as well_ , Vanitas turned his back on Roxas and took a few strides back toward his regular cove.   From behind him, the Blonde called, “think fast!”  Without even thinking, the Master of the Unversed lifted a hand and caught the thrown pouch out of the air.   Feeling the many ingredients nestled within, a grin settled atop his lips.

“Come to my bakery tomorrow, we’ll begin work on these first thing.”  Then, he stomped his feet two times and disappeared, leaving only an after image baring his middle finger behind.

 

 

 

 

“So, Master Vani, how many should we make this time?”  _Master Vani_?  Vanitas thought, grabbing a measure of cocoa and easing it into the mix, _since when did I become a Master?_   

“As many as we can with the Runt’s ingredients.  Make sure you diversify the spells you cast on each one so no one gets the same one twice.”  Jaquielle gave a dedicated nod of her head, sending strands of curly blonde hair tumbling in its bun. 

Since the sun had risen out of the inlet and painted the sky in the basking red and butterscotch of another eager dawn, Vanitas and his _Apprentice_ had been hard at work creating the next piece of his master plan to educate the students.  If he was being honest, the idea had come to him as a joke the first time one of the Wielders had _accidentally_ mistaken one of his Yellow Mustards for a cash pot, but once he had realized he could give his pots food to bring the students, he’d decided to up the ante a bit.   Give them a challenge here and there while they worked through the monotony of classes. 

Granted, Aqua wasn’t the _biggest_ fan of students showing up to class battered and bruised from high level magic, but Vanitas had run out of fucks to spare her a _long_ time ago.  And since Roxas was so eager to bequeath goods from the outside worlds, he figured, _why the fuck not?  So long as no one dies or destroys a building, everything will be fine._

Except _now_ , he had an Apprentice.  A student daring enough—and willing enough—to work beside him in his bakery and churn out little tarts that ranged from culinary perfection to possible murder. 

By the Darkness, he never imagined corrupting the youth of their school could be so _rewarding_!

“Add a little extra _oomph_ to that one, will you?” He commented with a dismissive flap of his hand, “gotta make sure your _classmates_ are on their game.”

“Okay, Master Vani—”

“I’m not your teacher, kid.”

“But you _should_ be.”  _Oof_.  Vanitas hadn’t expected _that_.  “This _is_ a learning exercise…right?” 

That certainly elicited a smirk.  “Sure.”

Jaquielle blinked at him, expression slowly changing from a blank gauge to absolute _horror_.  “Master _Vani_ —”

A knock at the well-hidden entrance cut off her words and forced a laugh from Vanitas’ throat.  There were few people in this place who knew where to find his bakery—let alone which of the eight doors was real or fake—and only _one_ of those few would be willing in this predicament to lend their services.    Not—of course—that he had even told them.

Yet. 

Giving one good stomp of his foot, the door flew open just as one of his Hareraisers calmly escorted a grinning Sora into his laboratory.   With his Brunet hair pulled back into a ponytail down his back, he looked even more youthful than he had a few years back when a younger version of the Hero of Lore came parading onto Scala like a half-pint prepared for life after a journey.  There was an inherent light to him that once blinded Vanitas and petrified him.  By now, he’d grown so used to shielding his eyes from the pure cerulean blue, he knew to just look away anytime the bubbly savior came waltzing into a room.

Especially in one as dark as his bakery. Sora was practically starlight.  “Okay, I’m here!  What did you need me for?”

Beside him, Jaquielle nearly dropped her latest creation with a gaping stare.  It turned askance to Vanitas in pure judgment.  “Master Vani— _no_!  We can’t involve Master So—”

“Just putting together a new _training_ exercise for the wee-ones.  Think you can help distribute a few Unversed to the various islands?”

“Well, of course, I can, but I don’t see why you wanted _me_ to do this.  Ven, Aqua, _and_ Terra all have wicked cool Keyblade surfers to help them do the work!  It’d be _way_ easier for them!”

“After all the shit we’ve gone through, what is the likelihood any one of them would’ve jumped at the chance to lend _me_ a hand?”  After a moment of silent deliberation, Sora shrugged and grabbed up one of the many Pot Unversed practically jumping for attention.  He nuzzled its face with a little grotesque chuckle and then huddled it under his arm for safe keeping. 

“I guess that’s a fair point, but I still don’t see why you’re doing this.”  Vanitas tried—and failed—to keep the maniacal grin off his face.

“Oh, don’t worry, Sora…I have my reasons.”  He _did_ stifle the menacing chuckle, though.  “Just do as a good teacher would and prepare your students for lessons.  If they’ve learned a thing all year, believe me, we’ll find out today.”

Sora grinned.  “Well, I sure hope so!  Good luck with the baking and send for me if you need help moving any more, okay?  Bye!” 

As soon as he was out the door, all the Unversed in the shop—and Jaqi—turned to him with a piercing glare.   Vanitas just shrugged and returned to his work with a sneer cracked across his lips.  “Just because I do a couple nice things doesn’t mean I’m suddenly a saint, kids.   Best remember that— _especially_ you.”  Pointing a spoon of chocolate at Jaqi, he gestured toward the door whilst grabbing a couple more ingredients for his concoctions.  “Not a word to any of your classmates, you hear?  Now get going before I make an extra special batch of magical cookies just for you.”

“With _your_ pathetic magic?  Master, please.”  Vanitas watched that sly smirk turn to a grin as his Apprentice gave him an innocent wave, grabbed her bag, and made way toward the door. 

With two stomps, she was gone, and he was left staring at her wake.  “Holy shit, I’ve created a monster.” 

 

 

 

 

There was no better way to document the results of an experiment than with your own eyes—at least, that’s what Even had told Vanitas the one time he dared speak to him.   Begrudgingly, he could admit the old man was _partially_ right.  If not, at least it was the most _enjoyable_ way to document the results.

Right now, Vanitas was just pretending to mind his own business while walking about the Red Island.   He had sent a vast majority of his army out here first.  Figured that if all the offensive and defensive classes took place on this most aggressive island, the likelihood of seeing immediate results of his challenge were the most likely. 

So far, his exercise was an overwhelming success.  

For every shy Keyblade weilder who yelped and shied away from collecting free munny, there were eighteen others who were Keyblade-happy enough to swing their weapon at anything that could potentially fair as an opponent.   With the Keyblade forge actively pumping out new chains for all the students and masters to test out on the field, there was no shortage of action necessary to keep the island’s booming commerce afloat.

So far, of the students who were perceptive enough to mistake his Unversed for random prizes littered around town, only two of them had run screaming when a pot tried to eat their Starlight Keyblade.  The rest had put up a decent enough fight for their lives.   A couple were saved by wayward teachers—who not-so-discretely glared at whatever nook or cranny he hid to observe their growth—and a couple others fought the good fight with all the dignity they had in them.   Of the ones who had won their battles, five Wielders had earned themselves a prize without any dangerous magic laced into it—the lucky bastards.   Another six had received prizes that they quickly stashed away without consuming, proving inconclusive data for his ongoing research. 

Granted, Vanitas had to be extra vigilant during this research, yielding imperfect results.   Though the Red Island wasn’t exclusive to the Fight-or-Flight types, it _was_ home to the main populace of Moogles, and those fuckers could scent him from a fucking mile away.   They were also very fickle creatures, and not at _all_ afraid to report his schemes to Aqua if they smelled a plot in the works.

So, he spent his time on the Red Island dashing from rooftop to rooftop while keeping in step with students parading down the streets below.  

Unlike the Green Island, Red was a bit more _open_ and wilder than the main hub.   Barracks and medic buildings were the only structures standing between patches of dirt paved into sparring rings between fields of emerald green grass.  The few roofs along the horizon were painted a menacing shade of red to inspire courage and passion in every fight that happened beneath their vigil.  Hanging from every doorway were good luck charms in remembrance of the warriors out on missions and for the many who still worked for the day their name would be called.     Some were makeshift wayfinders and others were mementos of the people far and away. 

For Vanitas, his bakery boasted a single popsicle stick branded with the word _Winner_.

But he was _way_ too far to see that from his vantage point atop the Eastern barracks.   Right here was the best spot on the Red Island to watch the streets without having to worry for wayward eyes.  Cluttered in the center of the island, it was guarded enough he could sit with his legs dangling over the edge and calmly observe the many battles that went on right under his nose.

In a field paces to his right, a cluster of six students went head to head with a gaggle of pot Unversed ready for war.  He felt their excitement filter through him, warming his chest with strokes of adrenaline that begged for Void Gear in his fingers, crushing through sinew and bone.   Tendrils of darkness weaved just below his skin, threatening to replace casual outer wear with the sheath he’d worn ages ago.     It breathed a life through him that he hadn’t felt in a _while_.  An energy and spark that had him aching to feel the toils of a fight sweating through his skin.

It was stifled by a single wince as a defeated pot returned to him in a gurgle of muscles clamped together in his stomach.  Gritting his teeth, he forced the bile scratching at the back of his throat down and bit back the throb in the pit of his abdomen. 

Standing from his perch, he cast a final look upon his underlings and gave a single stomp to the roof tile before disappearing from sight.

He reappeared atop a gold roof on the Yellow island, alone and thankful for that. 

Although Sora had been a _doll_ about carting his Unversed about the place, he had done so with the laziness of a teenage boy prompted to clean the dishes—not as well as he _could have_.   With the vast numbers he’d seen sporting the Red Island as their new vacation spot, the few that managed to evade capture here on the island dedicated to espionage and reconnaissance were less for sport and more for advanced training.  

Any students able-minded enough to pick out his Unversed and identify which carried cursed treats would earn fair marks in his unofficial grade book—since, _apparently_ , he was a fucking _teacher_ now.  

Fortunately, this Island was a bit more _inspiring_ than the last test group had been.  

Among the students who happened upon his Unversed, there had already been four who had won a complementary brownie from one of his many Hunger Pots and lived to tell the tale.  Ten others had waved at the friendly creatures and then left them blue—literally—to scamper back to class.    Of the other twenty or so who had come and gone during his walk through the shadows of the scattered island, _most_ had been clever enough to see anything with a hint of magic and either leave it behind in a bush somewhere or politely give it back to the Unversed without daring to play into his tricks.  

There had only been one student who failed so far, and he blamed that more on Riku for sneaking up on him than because he hadn’t sensed the inherent danger present in the—

“What are you doing here?”

Vanitas disappeared in a shocked afterimage, reappearing on the ledge of a roof with his hand pressed hard over his chest.  “Riku!  What kind of Master sneaks up on their—”

“Don’t make me ask twice.”

Letting out a hiss, Vanitas crossed his arms and balanced on his heels atop the roof.  “No need to be such a _grouch_.  I’m just doing some innocent research with the students.”

“Alone.  From the shadows.”  Vanitas rolled his eyes and stood out of his crouch with a glare. 

“If you can’t appreciate me having an engaged and active role in raising our kids to be the best they can be—” He almost stalled to reprimand Riku for snorting, but decided he was better than that—“I’ll just have to take my advanced methods _elsewhere_.”

“Good—unless you’d prefer to become the target in this island’s next mission.” _As if_ , he wanted to spout.   These kids were good—enough so to gather intel and observations without leaving much trace of their presence—but there was a difference between a Master and an Apprentice.  While Vanitas wasn’t _formally_ a Master, seeing as _tests_ weren’t exactly for _Rebels_ , even this stoic lug could admit he had earned the right to the title. 

_Could be fun, though.  Maybe I could even rope in Roxas…_ “I’ll think on it.  Would certainly be a riot, watching your students trip over their own feet to try and find little old me.”  Riku rolled his emerald eyes and turned his back without a single thought for all the nasty ways the _old_ Vanitas would’ve enjoyed tearing him apart.

“Yeah, I suppose it would be.  Best stay out of trouble until then, I guess.”  

He waited until the Silver-haired Guardian was out of reach before he muttered, “me?  Stay out of trouble?  It might as well be my designated title.” 

At least, it _used_ to be fitting.   Back before Scala had fallen and the Keyblade War ended.   When Vanitas had been so desperate to feel completed, he would’ve done any evil deed—killed any innocent civilian—just to feel _anything_ that wasn’t misery or despair.  Long before he’d seen the ruins of glistening white stone and thought, _this could really be something_.  During a time when the Unversed were still nuisances who left scars in every emotion they bled from, and the darkness imbedded in his being a power uncontrollable in his adolescent hands.

Now, Vanitas was less trouble than he was just… _here_.   The shadow cast by every backlit building, creeping down every street in the many footfalls of students growing from weakling souls to Apprentices prepared for war.  A reminder of the past that was and a promise of a future that could be.  

At least the _Masters_ no longer looked at him with _that glare_.  That _look_ like he was no different than the monster that had made him.   If nothing else, he could attest that he would _never_ become someone like that.  The closest he had ever gotten—well, that was a legend for another time.

Breathing a sigh through his nose, he clicked his heel back against the rooftop and found himself standing in the glacial hall of the Blue Island’s main center of magical research.   As he expected from the Goody-two-shoes who studied here, the halls were completely barren of any activity.   It was as silent as the graveyard had been in his youth, with only the ticking of a wall clock to guide his soundless footsteps through the abandoned corridors. 

Pasted on all the doors were roman numerals linked to whatever research was being undertaken by that number’s particular division.  Headmaster Aqua was _very_ hush-hush about what each number was in charge of, but he at least knew that Division XVII was in the business of Nightmare management.  Rumors had it that _Spirit Creation_ was handled by Division III, but he had yet to see more than speculation from the few students who had gotten deep enough in the main library to see the redacted pages.   Somewhere in here, there was even a division entirely devoted to studying entities without hearts—entities just like _him_.

That, too, was just a rumor, though.  Another _theory_ he’d heard spouted by some know-nothing-kid during another boring trip to the worthless cafeteria. 

At least these rooms were _real_.  The life here concrete and focused.   Even just a few steps into the massive building, he could feel the echo of magic crawling up his skin.   Years of constant use left a residue in these halls that smelled like burnt scrolls and left a faint aftertaste of cold metal at the back of his throat.  Remnants of used up light spells glittered and sparkled in a swath of tiny stars overhead, brightened by the slither of forgotten darkness in lines of inky shadows above and below.   Evidence of wayward attempts at higher level spells hid in the charred bits of plaster no one cared enough to maintain after all the countless times it had already been replaced.

The quiet drawl of voices and scratching chalk on a blackboard provided a backdrop of education that often went overlooked on the other islands.   There was an inherently _mundane_ quality to the Blue island that was lost on the naturally suspicious Yellows and overly enthused Reds.  Classrooms were built on archaic designs meant to provide an audience for a single teacher to preach to with diagrams and research Vanitas didn’t think worth the effort of collecting.  More advanced technology offered a menagerie of movies and documentaries recovered from studies done at Radiant Garden and conducted in the World That Never Was, but he had yet to see anything that forward-thinking come out of their own private hands.

_Maybe after Aqua retires,_ he thought with a quiet chortle.  If that was even possible.  He doubted the Headmistress would _ever_ deign her title to anyone but the _worthiest_ candidate, of which he could name quite a few—most of whom were trained by yours truly, of course.

Though, Vanitas had never been fit to walk these walls for very long.  Magic wasn’t exactly his forte—even if fucking around with it _was_. 

_Speak of the Devil_ , he thought as the unmistakable pitter-patter of light, porcelain footsteps came rushing toward him.   From around a nearby corner, one of his Lucky Pots spotted his silhouette and came dashing as fast as a wobbly little pot could.    At only a few hops away, it leaped into his chest just as a louder chorus of clattering footfalls came charging around the bend.

Vanitas held his creation in one arm while he bestowed the group of three with a disappointed leer.  Dead center, Rainy had the decency to at least look mortified by his judgment.  “Oh, Master Vanitas!  What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“We were just—” Before Rainy could finish, her mouth was quickly covered by Lori B’s hand.

“—We asked you first!”

Rolling his eyes, the Shadow glared down at the student.  “Is that any way to talk to a Master?”

“Technically,” Topaz interjected, “you’re not _really_ a—”

“—I’m doing the same thing everyone else does in this damn place.”  Holding up the Unversed hiding in his arms, Vanitas lightly tapped its thick outer hide, “research!”

“Research,” Rainy repeated with a suspicious leer, “I didn’t know you—”

“Neither did I.”  He didn’t even try to hide the groan that grumbled out of his throat. 

Of course— _of course_ —Aqua would’ve gotten a whiff of his Unversed and come to investigate the cause with that pointed, calculating gaze of hers.  

Standing tall and formidable at the end of the hallway, she still carried herself with the same poise and confidence she’d worn since the day she was named a Master by that Old Fool.  Only now, dressed in the garb of a Headmistress—complete with flowing navy silk and the padded armor of a true warrior—there was none of the self-doubt she had once worn in the face of her friends, just the professionalism of a teacher who had a host of questions and a list of assumed answers.

Too bad ninety-percent of her possible answers were probably correct.  “It’s not like you to visit us here, Vanitas.   What kind of research are you conducting exactly?”

“The kind that doesn’t concern you.”

A laugh came from her throat that likely would’ve been a bark if there weren’t three young students between the both of them.  “Any and all research being conducted here—”

“Has to be approved by you and _blah, blah, blah_ —yes, I know—thanks for the reminder, _Master_.”

“ _Head_ master.”  Vanitas _barely_ contained the glare he dropped on Topaz and Lori B.  They were lucky the wards on this building kept him from unleashing powers or else there was a very good chance Scala might be down two more Apprentices. 

“It’s just a little social experiment,” he answered, keeping his lips taut so the left corner didn’t inch up into a self-satisfied smirk.  “A game, if you will.”

“A game, huh?  What kind of game are you playing exactly?”

“You know, Aqua, I’d _love_ to explain it further—” Blue eyes hardened into sharp sapphires.

“—Don’t you—” But he met her glare with nothing but a smirk.

“—But a good scientist never influences the results of his own experiment, am I right?”

“I swear to the Light, Vanitas, you better not—”

“— _Bye_.”  With a flutter of fingers, he let his Unversed fall back to the ground and dissipated back into the shadows, leaving only a triumphant Afterimage in his wake.   Through it he heard the shrill, _not again_ , just as a laugh pooled around him in the quiet darkness.

This time, he took a moment to enjoy the dark corridors.   Walked slowly through the folding waves of the eclipse while looking out at the possible choices of reentry with a careful eye.

In here, surrounded only by his own shadows, he could almost forget—just for a moment—how different everything was.  Could almost feel the lingering trace of pain across his limbs, written in scars from battles hard fought and wars long lost.   Could almost remember the first time he’d set foot on this series of islands and felt that it was worth _more_ than his _creator_ was hogging it for.   That so much beauty deserved a better fate than to serve someone so selfish and greedy he’d sacrifice everything but himself just for one final, tender moment. 

It didn’t seem fair—not now, not after everything he’d seen. 

After all the fighting, Vanitas hadn’t dared think he could become a denizen of the light.  He’d been absolutely sure from day one that no matter how hard he tried—no matter how long he waited—he would always just be a piece of this place.  A fragment of darkness without a heart or a shell to call his own.  What did one even call that?  If he wasn’t a heartless…and he wasn’t a nobody…an Unversed? 

Huh, maybe _that_ ’s why _that place_ felt so homely to him.   Because there was nothing out there but for the swirls of inky black curtains keeping the light at bay where millions of tiny heartless clawed and scraped at the last shreds of a barrier keeping them from swallowing this world whole.  No white stone reflecting sun off the rippling waves of a wide-open sea.  No clusters of well-to-do students and teachers working hard to keep the world from ending all over again.   No Masters and impostors walking with their noses high in the air and training lost on the long stretch of peace possessing them.  

His feet moved of their own accord toward the only colorless splotch in view.   A breath of cold air burned down his throat with the first inhale across the barrier, flooding through his veins like liquid nitrogen through rubber. 

It had certainly been a minute since the last time he set foot on this island.  Underneath an eternal shroud, not even the sun’s light could quite penetrate the shadow left behind from a particularly bad night.  

Unlike the other islands, this one was just for him.   A memory of a time and place he often recalled only when the world got too bright and the feelings a bit too much.  In the silence of a world devoid of life, the only sounds in the deafening silence were the crunching of his footsteps and the low hum of wind from the far-off inlet.   Shades of black decorated the shattered skeletons of ancient houses littering each barren plot like tombstones guarding unmarked graves.  Beneath each one, souls cried out from creatures that might once have been something.

But now?  They were all just dead.

Sometimes, Vanitas felt an oddly comforting discomfort walking this abandoned place.  Other times—like now—he loathed it.  Like a reminder of what could have been if they hadn’t been too late.    Of how beautiful it might have once been, long before their forces had settled on the shores and his Unversed restored the other colors to their most picturesque.  Not this one, though.    Vanitas wanted to memorialize this place forever.   Like a cemetery he could crawl back to when the pride and joy of the others got infectious and he felt—like an _idiot_ —that the war was won.

_The war will never be over_ , he reminded himself just as a scratch of claws scrambled up his legs and scampered up onto his shoulder.    Leaning into the Flood’s offered nuzzle, Vanitas looked at the pulse of lingering darkness slowly being shred by the forces desperate for hearts of their own.  

“That could be us one day,” he told the eager creature whilst reaching out and touching the charged wall of liquid black.  Channeling his own inner demons, he winced out another Flood or two and felt a trickle of black bile slip past the tight barrier of his lips as streaks of reddish black broke skin, crawled over his arm and entangled themselves in the dense, fibrous web encapsulating them.    Pushing another pulse of stinging pain through his limbs, a groan crawled up his throat with the next Unversed that wished to be born into the world. 

He swallowed it back down and licked up the trickle at the corner of his mouth, then let the final surges of power dissipate from his fingertips. 

Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand he smirked at the Floods turning his tall form into a scratching post, “I think it’s about time to turn in for the night.  What do you say?”

Their flicker of happy purple was all the answer he needed.

Two short, tired stomps, and they were gone.

 

 

 

 

Sometimes, darkness wasn’t enough of a retreat for him.  But this?  Nothing could ever quite top _this_.

This deep below rippling waves, the pressure of water crashing above weighed heavy on his limbs, compressing every inch close enough each breath took effort to drag in and force out.  Deafening silence settled all around him, with only the sound of water pooling in his ears there to remind him they worked.  Darkness should have claimed his sight for the blind, but the glow of a far-off light down below illuminated the world around him in a fracture of etherealness broken only by the curving lines of a twisting surface farther below.

Settled only meters above crumbled and broken remains, his shadow sat awkwardly over once polished stone, bent in weird shapes by the fractured light shining up from below.  The mottled and ruined mosaics of Daybreak’s once booming township had changed over the years buried deep beneath the inlet.  The porcelain stone once trampled beneath the feet of countless Keyblade Wielders shone like stained glass, forming an image that he couldn’t quite get up the grips to look at quite yet. 

This place…was lonely.  With no Floods here to join him as they so often did on land, the only company he kept were the few white, spectral birds that rose from the darkest part of his shadow and dissolved like bubbles through the sea.  Each one came and went with a flutter, gone before he could dare reach out and try to touch.  The few that did land on the cracked stones were still too far for him to _dare_ try and interact.

But he wanted to—kind of.  While he preferred the silence, there was nothing to abate the stirrings in his heart without his Floods.  No painful tendrils leaked power into his veins, and no abandoned shadows forever beckoned him deeper—sure—but the lack of stimulation just reminded him that there was a tear.  A break in him that felt like two halves of a whole trying to find peace amidst turmoil.   One part looked down at busted murals and saw something that _could_ be.  Another one at the darkness lingering above that wished to surface and be whole.

_Whole?_   Did Vanitas even know what _whole_ felt like?

It didn’t feel like he did.  Should he?

He nearly inhaled a gulp of rushing water as bells suddenly rang loud and clear through the waters above him.   It should’ve been muffled—each chime broken and stripped down to its barest, quietest decibel.  But it wasn’t.  

He could hear each toll as if they were coming from right above his head, close enough he could reach up and stop the ring if he so chose.  With a glance, he checked the scene and found _nothing_.   No bells.  No chimes.  No ringing.   But it was _there_ —and _loud_. 

It disoriented him.  Drove him back a single swipe of water as his hands flew to his ears and tried to blot it out.    That only made it louder— _stronger_. 

_You have a choice._

That voice.  It was… _familiar_ , but _wrong_.  Like he’d heard it through someone else’s ears.  Many, _many_ times.  

_The Past._   It whispered in his ears as an invisible hand tipped his sight down to the illuminated ruins below.  _The Future_.  It directed his vision forward, into the pitch-black waters beyond.  _Or The Present_.  

This time, Vanitas had to direct himself.   Away from the bubbles drifting away with each breath.  From the sheer white of finches nestled atop crumbled stones.   _There._   He saw it—gold against white. 

It was a finch.  A bird—just like the rest.   But this one was different.  An inverse of himself.   Molten with liquid gold highlighted, only, by hues of ethereal blue.  Its black, black eyes stared back at him, and as he watched, it spread its wings and flapped them once, rising from the cracked stones in a ripple of bright water. 

Vanitas watched as it rose in another flap of wings, departing further than the rest, without dissolving back into that odd light.  In the darkness of its surroundings, its odd feathers cast their own shadow—darker than the rest.   Presented a light _so bright_ it pushed away the fractured patterns rippling along a forgotten surface and pushed itself deeper with no fear, no hesitance.   

Bright.

Disorienting.

Where was it going?  

Up?

Down?

_Find out,_ that voice whispered, _follow it._

Letting out another breath of bubbles, he watched one set continue in a track down to blanketed ruins while a single string flowed up toward that golden light.   Within its halo, something darker flickered.  Something that called to him.  Pulsed in his heart.   Reached out in twists of amber gold.  Deeper, and deeper. 

He dodged out of its way when it came too close—heart fluttering frantically in his chest.  Blinking back to its light, he gave a hard kick and shot back toward the surface, dodging another rocket and then another.  Kept swerving in and out of pillars as the halo was pushed out and the black shadow within grew—larger and larger. 

Was that…a _Heartless_? 

No.

His eyes widened as a familiar set of blazing red eyes smirked from within a broader darkness.  Felt the chill of the water bite deep into his skin, right down to his core, when they narrowed into a cat-like glare and turned their attention toward the surface above.

_No_.

He barely dodged the next spike of light that came darting for him.  Felt it catch on black cloth as he pressed the water down around him and forced himself up through the tides.   With a kick, he rose faster.  It wasn’t _fast enough_.   The darkness was _still_ getting away! 

What about the islands?

The school?

The _kids_?

Energy coiled in the depths of his palms, forced out to drive him that last bit to the surface.   Helped him break through the crust of black waters and back into the crisp, night air of a peaceful, sleeping Scala.

His hill—like always—was empty but for his bright yellow Floods.   Gathered as they were, they could’ve almost been a single Unversed, only broken here and there by their narrow red eyes staring anxiously up at him.

In the middle of them, a single finch sat with unblinking black eyes. 

_The Present_ , he heard. 

_This is your Present_.   _Is this what you choose?_

Looking at the blacked-out windows of the Green Island forgotten behind his many creations, Vanitas settled on that Dandelion hill and gave a subtle nod of his head.

_Yes_ , he thought, _this is what I choose_.

And he sat down in his spot to wait for morning to once again shine sunlight down on this place.  

_His home._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and we hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Join me in Kingdom Hearts hell @SquiishiiChaos on Tumblr! :D


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